


A Lesson in Cravings

by caffeinehoe



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Angst, Happy Ending, Insecurity, M/M, The Illya/OMC is all in the past, bottom!Illya, kinkfromuncle, top!napoleon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-15 14:26:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5788744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caffeinehoe/pseuds/caffeinehoe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Illya wants a D up his ass, instead of his D up an ass. Napoleon is more than happy to oblige.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Lesson in Cravings

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know what this is. I'm so sorry.

Illya liked women, yes. He did enjoy the company of the opposite sex, yes.

He liked their soft curves, shy laughs and red lips. Simuntainusly, something about hard angles, scruff, a deep voice, had always attracted him, but he decided against it the summer he discovered his fascination with the male physique. He considered all the possible outcomes and consequences. With it being illegal, he thought it better to leave the desire alone, hidden in a drawer, locked away, the feelings never to be followed through on.

 

Enter, Nikolai. Not small of height, but with a petite body, lean muscles. Sand coloured hair, deep brown eyes.

A fellow KGB operative.

As it turned out, the KGB wasn’t the only thing they had in common. During a particularly heated sparring session, the spark that had been simmering between them for months suddenly exploded. When they eventually ended up in bed together - though it wasn’t a bed - it was like their roles already had been decided for them. Illya, with his broad shoulders, towering height and almost superhuman strength topped, and Nikolai bottomed, as if it were a given.

Oh, and Illya enjoyed it. Of course he did, the feeling of being buried deep in another person was naturally pleasurable - it’s just, when he heard his partner’s breathy moans, when he prepared him, when he thrust into him, he couldn’t help but imagine being the one receiving. Couldn’t help but slowly open himself up, standing in the privacy of his own shower, using soap, cream and whatever else he could get his hands on. Starting with slathering his fingers with an unnecessary amount of lubricant, then rubbing firmly with the pad of one finger against the little rosebud, inserting the finger, resulting in a burning but also oh so amazing feeling. He would end up panting, one hand steadying himself against the shower tiles, the other being busy with his behind, three or four fingers buried deep inside himself. Eventually he would come untouched, white semen dripping down the wall, Illya sinking down to rest on his now sore bottom, getting down from the high. He couldn’t help but go weak in his knees, thinking about it being another person's actual penis, living and warm, another person behind him, and not just his own cold fingers.  

 

It seemed like society's norms had affected not only who people believed was the one on top, but also who actually was, behind closed doors. These unspoken rules determined that because of Illya’s size and intensity, he wasn’t allowed bottom. But screw that, right? It wasn’t like the pair of them was a beacon of traditionality to begin with - a homosexual couple in the USSR wasn’t exactly the standard, so why bend down to society, the expectations created by men?

That’s how Illya convinced himself to suggest to Nikolai, that their current sexual positions could be reversed every once in awhile.

 

Illya still remembered Nikolai’s initial surprise and amusement, which soon morphed into something which could only be described as disbelief and disgust when he realized he wasn’t kidding.

“Illya, even for us, there are rules. You are not desirable in that way, in the same way that I am not desirable in the same way you are. I do not believe that men sleeping with each other is unnatural. But some things is. This - this you are suggesting - included.”

Illya had stared at his lover, at his sincere expression. Only those who knew him well, his mother, his deported father, would have been able to see the hurt behind his stoic surface at those words. _Unnatural. Undesireable._

“But.” Illya took a moment to look down at his hands, ordering them to stop shaking. _Unnatural. Undesireable._ “You say, you say that you would not be wanted that way. _I_ want you that way.”

Nikolai’s face, which was normally so balanced, always playful or happy when directed at Illya, twisted up in an ugly sneer. “As I said, unnatural.”

 

* * *

 

 

That’s when Illya reinstated his earlier rule, the one he should have never broken. That was when he added another reason not to break the golden rule. He could never act on his desires towards men again,

  * because it’s illegal,
  * because he’s KGB,
  * because he’s a bottom.



 

* * *

 

Then came Napoleon, who made him break all his rules, made him want to break all his rules. He betrayed Mother Russia in order to avoid killing him, a lifetime of loyal service versus a week of reluctant partnership. Illya saw what was happening, of course. He’s not stupid, thank you very much. Those desires from all those years ago, those forbidden desires, which are forbidden for very good reasons, resurfaced. The biggest issue was that those desires evolved into feelings, feelings which would not go away, no matter how much he commanded them to. Not to mention the fact that said feelings were for a CIA agent, a capitalist, an American, a selfish prick, who Illya by all definitions should hate.

 

After a mission, one of the bloody ones, Napoleon was patching Illya up, and Illya’s shirt comes off - which was maybe not entirely necessary, though Napoleon will argue otherwise. Illya was looking at his partner, who was concentrating very hard on stitching up a wound Illya got on his collarbone from a particularly aggressive THRUSH agent. He was biting his lip while working, something Illya knew he only did when he was nervous. It was completely based on a hunch, because Illya had no proof that Napoleon would be interested in him, or even in men generally, that he takes a deep breath, before getting Napoleon's attention with a softly muttered “Hi”. Those deep, blue, amazing eyes, lifted from the now finished work, and met Illya’s. His lips looked so soft, so plump, and while their relationship had started with mutual hatred and understandable distrust, he was then certain that he had never cared for another person like this. Illya is two seconds away from closing the distance between them, when Napoleon surges forwards and does it for him, lips meeting lips. Seconds, Minutes, Light Years later they separate, lips millimeters apart, and all Illya can say is; “Cowboy”.

They don’t separate much that night.

 

As it was with Nikolai, it seems like their positions are already decided - when Illya thrusts deep into Napoleon, and he lets out the most inappropriate moan, Illyas named laced in there, Illya doesn’t dream about it being himself, because he’s finally got Napoleon, and he’s not gonna screw it up again. Not with Napoleon. He still feels the longing, of course, and his needs are taken care of in the shower - teeth biting into his arm to muffle the sound of his cry. Once, he mistakenly assumed he was alone, and moaned out Napoleon's name. His lover had heard, and had with a sly grin tossed himself seductively across the bed.

 

“Why dream it when you can have the real thing, eh, Peril?”

 

And while Napoleon was his dream, he couldn’t have it exactly how he wanted it. But he wasn’t  complaining - being with Napoleon, having this womanizing playboy decide that he was the one worth it all, was enough. So, he decided to focus on one thing and one thing only during intercourse: Napoleon’s pleasure. Sometimes, when they were in the heat of the moment, and it was all leading towards actual penetration, Illya would either blow or rim his partner, getting him off that way. He did it to distract himself from the traitorous desire to climb into Napoleon’s lap, and to distract Napoleon from the yearning in his eyes and him sometimes suddenly losing enthusiasm.

 

He thought he was getting away with it - Napoleon had never asked questions, and didn’t seem to mind all the attention paid to making him come - though, Illya supposed there were worse fates than having your partner constantly drop to his knees for you.

 

* * *

 

 

While Illya was a KGB trained spy, and could probably fool half the planet, he often forgot, amidst their romance, that Napoleon was skilled in the art of detection as well. And he knew something was going on.

 

* * *

 

 

“Say, Peril, can I have a quick chat with you?”

 

The formal tone caught Illya’s attention immediately. To anyone else, the American spy would have seemed relaxed, suave, lounging on the sofa, tilting his chin up to look at the tall Russian, but to Napoleon, Illya wasn’t just anyone. He easily recognized the chill demeanor as the shield his partner had perfected over the years - he’d seen it a thousand times, but it had been quite a long while since it was last used on him. “Cowboy?” He sat down on the same couch, looking over at the American.

 

Napoleon straightened up, swinging his legs off the couch. He poured himself a glass of scotch from the bottle he had earlier stolen from the hotel bar, took a sip. While shifting the glass from hand to hand, so the dark liquid splashed around, he looked up at Illya with a pained expression, all pretens gone.

 

“Look, I’m in the need of a straightforward answer, so I’m going to be straightforward when I ask.

 

Are you attracted to me?”

 

Illya spluttered, not sure if he was joking. He leaned forwards towards his partner, searching for hints of what was going on - then decided that yes, it had to be a prank. “Cowboy, we’ve been together for two months now, and had a considerable amount of sex. I believe the answer is clear, Da?”

 

Napoleon smiled, but in a sad, dry way. “It seems like, when in bed, your main goal is to get me off as quickly as possible, like you’re avoiding actual intercourse. Whenever I offer to return the favour, you refuse.

 

I know it’s not an equipment problem, it’s not easy to miss that that’s working perfectly fine, so my only conclusion is, that you are not attracted to me.

 

My question is, why stay with me?”

 

Illya sighed, putting his head in his hands. At that moment, he would be more than willing to throw away five years of being sober for some good Russian vodka, not the filth you could get in the west.

 

He finally looked up, staring into the Americans defiant eyes.

 

Napoleon let out a wry laugh. “So, I was right. I’ll just …”

 

“Nyet.”

 

There was a pause, before Napoleon coughed and looked questioning at Illya. “Nyet?”

 

“You’re not right.”

 

“Either you tell me, or I walk out that door, because I’m beginning to…” Illya stopped him with a hand movement.

 

“Cowboy, I want to tell you the reason, it's not because of you. But I’m afraid.”

 

“Afraid?”

 

“Afraid that it will go like the last time I told, and you will leave.”

 

“Peril, whatever it is, I’m making it out to be a thousand times worse in my head, so you better just tell me the whole story. From the beginning.”

 

“You remember Nikolai, yes?”

 

“Your first and only boyfriend, except yours truly. Of course I do”.

 

Illya looked up again, a little surprised at the defintion of their relationship. “I came to discoverer something when I was with him. Because of size, I was given the role as the top. Same with you.

 

But, I was wondering, what was like to be the other. I experimented.” Illya looked down, blushing. “I discovered that I received the most pleasure through anal stimulation and, well, enjoyed it much more. When I told him about this, he was unpleased. Ended it. Told me it was unnatural. That I would never be desired that way. 

 

I did not wish for you to be unfulfilled because I wanted it the other way, so I focused on you. Did not want you to think of me as unnatural too. Did not want for you to leave me.”

 

Napoleon was staring at him when Illya finally met his eyes. The American's face betrayed no emotions, before he let out a booming laugh. _Unnatural. Undesireable._ Right.

 

It felt like being stabbed again and again and again. Illya started to excuse himself from any more embarrassment, but then suddenly, he had his arms full of American.

 

“You silly, silly man.

 

You dumb, dumb, silly man.”

 

A kiss to his cheek.

 

“Size doesn’t determine roles.”

 

A kiss to his nose.

 

“Just didn’t think you would be interested in doing it the other way around.”

 

His chin.

 

“But trust me, I am _very_ interested. Been ogling that sweet bottom of yours since day one, Darling.”

 

Some suggestive eyebrow waggling, followed by an intense kiss to the lips, (and also something else.)


End file.
